ab initio
by frosted fawn
Summary: she finds comfort in him. he falls for her too hard.
1. i

She is a young girl, not older than 10 years old. She has a petite frame, that of a child even younger than she, allowing for a steady stream of questions regarding her age. It makes her rather upset, being questioned, because she knows her age. However, she chooses to remain silent. The adults, she knows, would not be happy with her backtalk. She will be a proper, obedient daughter for her parents; she knows the consequence of rebellion. Therefore she will not protest. She will not protest, even when her rage threatens to burst; not even when her dissatisfaction brings tears to her eyes. A young girl she is, though certainly wise beyond her years.

Presently, she is worried. She contains herself well, as expected, despite the situation she has been forced into. Her face is set into a blank mask as she walks down the new, yet somehow familiar hallway. She observes the pieces of poorly drawn art attached to the walls. I wonder, she thinks, I wonder why all school hallways look the same. Someone should tell those students that their drawings are terrible. It's unfair to lie to them.

"Sorry, Mrs. Yamanaka. I'll have to call you back. I'm taking Sakura to her class."

She hears the constant _click-clack_ of her mother's heels on the shiny vinyl floor. The sound echoes throughout the hallway, drawing the attention of those within the classrooms. Within one room, she catches a brief glimpse of a teacher's glare. Her mother does not. She was never too fond of the sound of her mother's heels, but she cannot drown out the noise. The sound begins to reverberate throughout her body, causing a shiver to tingle her spine. _Click, clack, click, clack, click, clack,_ like a metronome, never increasing nor decreasing in pace. From the corner of her eye, she sees something bright pink in color. Her footsteps pause as she turns to view the source. It's one of those terrible drawings. It might be a butterfly, she thinks, it's not as ugly as the others. Her mother continues walking.

"Oh, I don't know why I have to be here! Sakura can take care of herself. She doesn't need me to baby her! This isn't kindergarten, my god. Well, I-" Mrs. Haruno, noticing her daughter is no longer beside her, removes the phone from her ear and turns around.

"Sakura! What are you doing? Do you really want to be late?" Clacking her tongue, she resumes her previous position and brings the phone back to her ear. "I really do need to go now, Mrs. Yamanaka, we'll talk later- Okay, goodbye."

Sparing one last glance to the drawing, Sakura turns away. Her footsteps continue towards her mother. The _click-clack_ of the heels only serves to fuel her worry. She worries that, as usual, she will not be able to make friends; her peers are typically not too fond of her. Rather than friendliness, she receives contempt and distaste. Her pale, pink hair and viridian eyes often bear the brunt of the insults. Her reserved nature certainly doesn't help. She is an invader, they say; they already have their friend groups, and have no need for anyone new. Someone that transfers to the school in the middle of the year will always be an outsider. Her mother stops walking. They stand before the door to her classroom.

"Let's not waste any more of my time, Sakura. Come on."

Her mother pulls the door open, and Sakura is afraid. For a split second, she feels the mask slip off her face. She cannot let her mother see. The now slightly subdued _click-clack_ of heels startles her from her fears, and the mask is back in place. She follows her mother into the classroom, observing her surroundings. Carpeted floors. Desks. More poorly drawn art. Children her age. A woman stands from her place behind the teacher's desk.

"Oh, my! You must be Mrs. Haruno! I see, it is so wonderful to meet you!" The woman moves to her, reaching out her hand.

"Yes."

"And this must be your daughter, Sakura! Oh, goodness, what a beauty she is!" The woman smiles, hand still reaching forward.

"Yes. I can leave now, correct? I'm very busy. I had to take out time from my schedule for this."

"Oh, um, yes! Yes, I'll take care of everything from here." The woman, looking confused, drops her hand back to her side.

With a brief nod of her head, Sakura's mother exits the classroom. Sakura can hear the _click-clack_ of her heels from the hallway. She glances around the room, meeting the questioning gazes of her new classmates. Inside, she is angry; she is angry at her mother for embarrassing her. She, too, wishes she could have come alone. Her chance of making friends is much lower now, she thinks. Her anger continues to boil under her skin, though her face is still blank. The woman smiles at her, taking her hand to guide her to the front of the room.

"This is your new classmate, Sakura Haruno. Please be kind to her! It's never easy to start over at a new school."

The woman directs her to a desk, in between a blond-haired boy and a black-haired boy. The blond-haired boy seems to be overflowing with energy, quite obviously eager to speak with his new neighbor. The black-haired boy, seemingly unimpressed, views her from the corner of his eye. She stares straight ahead. Her anger has not yet ceased, so she wills herself to calm down. Funny, she thinks, that my worry has been so easily overshadowed by my anger. She releases a breath. The blond-haired boy next to her finally bursts.

"Hi! Your name is Sakura, right? That's a really good name! Sakura, like the flower, because your hair is pink! It's really pretty too, and so are your eyes, and so are you! Heh, sorry, I guess I'm talking too much. My name is Naruto! That guy on the other side of you is Sasuke, but he doesn't talk much." He seems to speak it all on one breath. The other boy, Sasuke, still reigns disinterest.

Faking a smile, Sakura speaks. "It's nice to meet you, Naruto," she turns to face Sasuke, "and you too, Sasuke."

"Back at ya," Naruto says.

"Hn," Sasuke says.

She turns her head, once more, to face forward. Her anger is still present, but it seems to have dissipated some. A result from the words of Naruto, perhaps. Regardless, she feels like she can breathe again. As her mind clears, she thinks; the word "pretty" echoes throughout her head. _Pretty, pretty, pretty._ He called her pretty. He didn't make fun of her hair or her eyes. He didn't say anything mean to her. This Naruto, she thinks, could be good. He could be her friend; already, he seems to be interested in becoming her friend. The last feelings of anger leave her body entirely.

"Fairy," Sasuke says.

"Huh?" Sakura questions.

"You look like a fairy."

She smiles. Her face is no longer a mask.


	2. ii

Today, she is nervous. As a result of their inseparable friendship, she and Naruto are to meet Sasuke's family: the Uchihas. They will visit his home immediately after school. Sakura set her alarm for an hour earlier that morning. She took extra care in preparing her clothes for the occasion, specifically because her mother always spoke of the importance of appearance. You will be forgotten if you do not make an impression. You must, always, be prim and proper in both appearance and action; of course, only to those who matter. Sakura's fourth grade teacher, for instance, does not matter. Her mother had exemplified that perfectly. However, Sakura decided that Sasuke's family does matter. He is one of her best friends, and she will make his family remember her.

Fortunately, her mother did not comment on her choice of clothing. Sakura was not interested in answering the stream of questions that would undoubtedly arise. She also had the sneaking suspicion that her mother would not allow her to go. She has not mentioned her newfound friendships with Naruto and Sasuke. Surely, her mother would have something negative to say; very few people are good enough for their social circle. This is her secret, for now, and she hopes to enjoy it while she still can.

Her train of thought is broken by the shrill sound of the bell, signaling the end of the school day. The thought of her mother lingers, and leaves behind a stale taste in her mouth. She has the sudden urge to wash her mouth out with soap to remove the taste. She quickly realizes, however, that this would only serve to reinforce the ever-lingering presence of her mother. She hates it; she hates how every thought of hers is stolen by her mother. A headache begins to form. She releases a sigh. Will she ever be free?

"Sakura? Are you ready?" Naruto questions as he invades her personal space.

"Yeah! I'm sorry, kind of spaced out for a few seconds."

"Come on!" Naruto begins, taking her hand to pull her from her seat. "Sasuke's parents are making us lunch! A real lunch, not that crap they serve us here! Do you think it'll be ramen?"

"Idiot. Why would my mom make ramen?" Sasuke says, standing from his seat.

Naruto, positioning himself between Sakura and Sasuke, dangles his arms over their shoulders. "Because it's amazing!"

* * *

When they arrive at the Uchiha family's home, Naruto is openly surprised. He, apparently, was not expecting to see such an extravagant house. Sakura vaguely listens as he continually rambles on about the house. She doesn't think much of the house, since she is from a similar background. Unwillingly, the shape of her mother begins to form in her mind, thinking that she would appreciate such a house. Maybe, just maybe, Sakura could tell her about Sasuke. The thought disappears as quickly as it had appeared. They continue walking towards the entrance of the house, pausing to let Sasuke take the lead. He opens the front door. He enters and she follows, Naruto trailing behind.

As usual, she takes note of her surroundings. Having taken her shoes off at the door, she feels the plush carpet under her feet. Her eyes adjust to the dark paint and dark furniture. It seems that the Uchiha family is a fan of the color black. I must make quite an image, she thinks, with my pink hair. Her nervousness makes a fast comeback; she worries that they will not like her. She wants them to like her, more than anything, so she cannot mess this up. This is the family of her best friend. She will prevail.

"Sasuke," a feminine voice calls from the other room. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Please, bring your friends to the kitchen, and then go fetch Itachi from his room," the same voice replies.

"Itachi? Shouldn't he be at school?" Sasuke questions, leading the way to the kitchen. Sakura and Naruto follow.

"Not today," the voice calls.

Sakura and Naruto enter the kitchen as Sasuke heads in a different direction. A woman, the source of the voice, can be seen in front of the sink. Upon the entrance of her visitors, she turns around to greet them. She smiles, brightly, and makes her way towards them. She hugs them both, rather tightly, before speaking.

"My goodness! What a beauty you are… Sakura! Sasuke told me that you look like a fairy, oh, he sure wasn't exaggerating! I'd do anything to have such a beautiful daughter. Naruto, what a handsome young man! You both bring some color to my dreary home!" she says, a lighthearted tone evident in her voice.

"Thank you, Mrs. Uchiha," Sakura says.

"Call me Mikoto, both of you," Mikoto says.

"Okay."

"Hey, Mikoto! Are you making ramen?" Naruto questions.

As Mikoto replies, Sakura tunes out her voice. Instead, she moves to sit at the table. She stares down at the dark wood. She can't help but compare this woman, Mikoto, to her own mother; what would her life be like if she had grown up with Mikoto as her mother? She only knows the harsh, unforgiving words of her mother. She knows the uncaring attitude of her father. She does not know the kind voice that Mikoto uses. She wishes she did. Perhaps she'd have more than two friends, and would not be forced to constantly move from place to place. Comfort, she thinks, I would be comfortable in a home like this.

Another voice joins the conversation, pulling her away from her thoughts. She looks up from the table to meet black eyes; Sasuke, she assumes, but quickly realizes her mistake. Not Sasuke. This boy is too old to be Sasuke. His hair is too long. Itachi, she remembers hearing. This must be Itachi. She nods her head in greeting. He nods back.

"Come sit down, Naruto! My husband won't be here, I'm sorry about that, he couldn't leave work for lunch today. Both of you will just have to come back another time!"

"Hn."

"Of course! You promised to make me ramen next time, too!"

Naruto pulls at the seat next to Sakura, sitting next to her. Sasuke sits across from him. Mikoto sits at one end of the table, closest to Sakura. Itachi sits across from Sakura. They, once again, engage in a staring contest. She examines his features, thinking that he must still be just a boy; he doesn't look old enough to be a man just yet. There is something in his gaze, however, that reminds Sakura of herself. His eyes carry the weight of countless burdens. His eyes make him seem wise beyond his years. She wonders why.

After passing the food to everyone at the table, Mikoto begins her interrogation. She starts with Naruto, asking about his family (only to find that he has none), his interests, how he met Sasuke. Sakura, already knowing this information, halfheartedly picks at her food. What will I tell Mikoto, she thinks. What should she say about her family? Lying was never her forte, so she supposes she should tell the truth. How much of the truth she tells, though, is an entirely different story.

"What about you, Sakura? What are your parents like?" Mikoto questions.

Sakura stabs a strawberry with her fork. "They are well enough. They work very often, so I don't see them much."

"Ah, you poor thing! Sasuke mentioned that you recently moved here?"

"Yes. My parents move around a lot for their jobs," Sakura replies. She puts the strawberry in her mouth and chews.

"And you're used to it?"

After swallowing the fruit, she replies. "You could say that. There are people in worse situations than me, so it's okay."

An unfamiliar, somewhat masculine voice chimes in. Sakura looks up from her plate.

"That seems rather insightful for someone of your age. You are Sasuke's age, no? 10?" Itachi says, keeping his eyes trained on her.

"Yes. I've been told that I don't act my age," Sakura says.

"And I the same."


	3. iii

Sakura Haruno does not panic. She is calm and collected, hiding her fear, anger, and worry under a carefully composed mask. There are no outward indications of her negative emotions. She absolutely does not panic, no matter what the circumstances may be. She has been taught not to panic. Panicking is a sign of weakness; a sign of the mask slipping away. The mask protects. She is vulnerable without the mask. For this reason, she does not panic. She will not panic; the words are repeated like a mantra inside of her mind.

No, she will not panic; not even because of Naruto and Sasuke. So what if they have been neglecting her? It is not their responsibility to keep her company, of course. Three years of friendship does not mean she gets an automatic invitation. They just want to do things on their own, perhaps, things she wouldn't understand. They're probably trying to look out for me, she thinks, so that my mother doesn't question my whereabouts. The three of them are best friends, the closest group of friends in their school; nothing will change that. She does not have a reason to panic.

Only, as a hopelessly hormonal 13 year-old girl, her thought process is not quite logical. Her emotions are getting much more difficult to control. She is not thinking rationally, causing her to jump to conclusions. Being as bright as she is, she knows the effects of puberty on both her physical and mental being. Unfortunately, she cannot contain it. So, she panics.

When the bell rang at the end of the school day, Naruto and Sasuke had told her that they would see her tomorrow. Apparently, today they were going to be busy after school. They had made plans in advance, as was the usual lately, that did not involve her. She smiled, told them to enjoy their day, and took her leave. She did not wait to see their reactions. She isn't sure if she'd want to see them. Even now, as she considers it, she does not regret her choice; though her mind may be screaming at her to find out how they feel, she knows that these are only the hormones talking. You are being left behind, the hormones chant; they don't need you, they only need each other. You are the outsider. You were the one to invade their friendship.

She is attempting to make her way back home. However, since she is on the verge of mental breakdown, she questions her course of action. She doesn't think going home would be a great choice. The last thing she needs is for her mother to see her in a poor mental state, as she is not in the mood for a verbal beating. The woods, she thinks, I will go to the woods. Few are brave enough to enter the woods on the outskirts of the park; for what reason, she doesn't know. She chooses not to question it, though, since she gets the entire area to herself. It's quite relaxing there, with the little creek and lush greenery. The perfect place for a not-so-perfect girl. A good place to release, to feel; to remember her capabilities as a human.

So, that is what she decides to do. She goes to the forest. She moves towards the creek. She settles under a tree. She lets herself go.

Her body shakes, rather violently, as if something inside of her was trying to break out. Her breaths come out in sharp huffs, raggedy and uneven. It feels as if she can never get enough air into her lungs. She wraps her arms around her stomach, digging her fingernails into her sides; if she had not been wearing clothing, perhaps it would scar. She presses her fingers down harder than before, trying to feel something; anything, even pain, is better than the distinct feeling of nothing. Despite the emotional turmoil, the mask is hard to shatter. Her tears will not fall. She whimpers, a loud cry of frustration at her failure. A bird flies off a nearby branch. She is no longer alone.

"Sakura Haruno," says a vaguely familiar voice.

Her grip on her sides loosens, slightly, at the sound of her visitor: the only indication that she is aware of his presence. She does not look up. He stands a respectful distance away from her form, quietly observing her petite frame. He takes note of her pink hair, longer than he remembers, and her disheveled appearance. His eyes drift to her hands, briefly, before he stops looking at her entirely. He walks forward, pausing in place before positioning himself on the ground next to her. The scent of something distinctly masculine reaches her nostrils. They sit in silence for several minutes, her breaths eventually becoming steady. She removes her arms from around her stomach, settling them in her lap. Glancing to the side, she observes her visitor.

"Itachi."

Choosing not to reply with words, he nods in acknowledgment. Sakura returns her eyes to her lap. They remain in a comfortable silence for several more minutes before he speaks again.

"You do not cry. Why?"

"I don't know how to cry," Sakura says.

"It seems you need to," Itachi says.

"How can I cry? I think it might be impossible for me. The tears don't come out," she says.

He pauses for a moment, as if in thought. "Think of what pains you, even if it causes you despair," he says, "do not avoid it."

"I'm not allowed to think about it. My mother would never allow me to fall into despair; it would be an embarrassment," she says.

"Do not worry so much for what others think," he says.

"I'm not allowed to cry," she says.

"You are allowed, right now. I will not mention this to my little brother," he says.

 _Sasuke._ He's talking about Sasuke, she thinks; why did he have to mention Sasuke? _Naruto._ Her friends. Their distance seems so far away from her. She cannot reach them. She will never be able to reach them. They have abandoned her, left her behind in favor of each other. Her mother still does not know them. Oh, she thinks, _my mother_. The source of her pain, the antagonist of her story. Her head begins to pound. Does she hate her mother? Is it wrong to hate her mother? Perhaps it is a misplaced judgement; her mother may be preparing her for the unforgiving world. Is she right? Is she wrong? Why are the answers so unclear?

Her eyes sting, so she rapidly blinks to dispel the feeling. She feels liquid run down her cheeks. Surprised, she takes her hand to her face and touches the liquid to her fingertip. She sees the glistening substance on her finger. I'm crying, she thinks, I'm actually crying. Laughter bubbles in the back of her throat, escaping in a choked sob; she cries, harder, openly wailing for Itachi to see. He does not look at her. She cries, and cries, and cries until the sun drops low in the sky. She cries until her throat is hoarse and her eyes are red. Itachi stays with her the entire time. She never asks him to leave.


	4. iv

When she wakes up the next day, her eyes hurt. Her throat feels raw. Her body aches. She's in no mood to get out of her bed, let alone force herself to school, especially since she will be forced to face Naruto and Sasuke. Itachi did say that he wouldn't tell Sasuke, but could she really trust him? Stop being silly, she thinks to herself, he has nothing to gain from lying. He isn't your mother. He stayed with you, for the entire evening, while you cried like a baby; that alone should be worth something, shouldn't it? These thoughts distract her from the sound of knocking at the door of her bedroom. She doesn't even notice when, upon receiving no answer, her visitor enters the room.

"Sakura," her visitor says.

Startled from her thoughts, she abruptly sits up in her bed. Her head spins. Through her blurry vision, she can vaguely identify the outline of her mother at the foot of her bed.

"Sakura, why are you still asleep? You should be getting ready for school," her mother says.

"I'm sorry," Sakura says.

"Sorry. You're sorry," her mother says. "Maybe you wouldn't have overslept if you had come home at a normal time yesterday, hm?"

"I'm sorry. I lost track of the time," Sakura says.

"Listen, Sakura, I don't care. You will do better next time. Things in this city have been going good for us. I can't have you, staying out all evening doing God knows what, ruining this for us… again," her mother says.

"I understand, mother. It won't happen again," Sakura says.

Her mother flinches slightly, before moving to the side of the bed. She slaps Sakura across the face.

"Why did you call me that, Sakura? You should know better," she says.

"I'm not feeling too well this morning," Sakura says. "It was a mistake."

"I do not accept mistakes," her mother says.

"I understand," Sakura says.

"Good. Get ready for school," her mother says while exiting the room.

Sakura, having held her tongue for the majority of the exchange, lets out a deep breath. She ignores the sting on her cheek. Refusing to think about the exchange, she gets up from her bed to dress for the day. She views herself in the mirror, noting that she may need makeup to cover the bags beneath her eyes. The thoughts of her mother attempt to push their way through; she fights them back. She fails. I wonder, she thinks, if she would be happier if I were not here. Her hands move on their own accord, wrapping themselves around her neck. She applies pressure. Her breath comes out in short, pained puffs. As her eyes water, she attempts a laugh.

Oh, she thinks, how easy it is to die. If only it were this easy to live.

* * *

She ignores Naruto and Sasuke at school. They sneak glances at her throughout the morning, she knows, but does not hold the energy to deal with it. She does not want to be questioned for her poor mood. Some part of her wishes to confide in them, but the other part is still convinced of their betrayal. Her hormone-driven thoughts, mixed with the memory of her mother, make her feel like vomiting. She excuses herself from class to do just that.

When she exits the bathroom, the hallway is still empty; apparently, classes hadn't changed yet. It didn't matter much to her. She walks through the hall, listening to the sound of her footsteps echo and bounce off the walls. She walks to the front doors, opens them, and steps outside. Her mind holds no worry about being seen. She has no destination in mind, but her legs keep moving. They seem to have a mind of their own. She lets her legs guide her, paying little attention to her surroundings. Thoughts trickle in and out of her head, nothing seemingly good enough to stay at the forefront of her mind. One word, however, remains prominent among the rest: _Itachi_. She remembers thinking about him, earlier, before her mother interrupted. What would he tell me now, she wonders, would he still be willing to help?

As it turns out, her legs have guided her back to the forest from the previous day. She stops walking, allowing her senses to reach out upon her surroundings; she breathes in, noticing the smell of dirt and leaves and water. There is greenery ahead of her, trees and bushes as far as the eye can see. She hears the _swish_ of water from the creek. She feels a feather-light touch on her hand.

"Sakura," he says.

"Itachi," she says.

"You should be in school," he says.

"I know," she says.

Sakura moves to sit on the ground and Itachi next to her, similar to their positions from yesterday. They sit in their usual, comfortable silence for several moments before he speaks.

"Why," he says, as if it were a statement rather than a question. She takes no offense.

"I cried too much yesterday," she says. "I don't feel well today."

"Is that all?" he asks.

"No," she says.

"Tell me," he says.

"My mother doesn't want to be my mother," she says.

He doesn't respond immediately, instead choosing to carefully consider the words. His eyes close. Sakura watches him, uncaring as to whether or not he catches her; she is too tired for that. He eventually responds, though does not open his eyes.

"How does that make you feel?" he asks.

Sakura moves her eyes away from him, choosing to instead stare at the sky. "It doesn't make me feel anything," she says. "Not anymore."

"Yet, you are in pain," he says.

"Because these feelings are not my own, I am not my own self. I am a mixture of what everyone else wants me to be. I am my mother's anger, my father's neglect, Naruto and Sasuke's suspicion; they combine to form pain, to form despair," she says.

"I do not agree with that," he says.

"Why?" she asks.

"Because I saw you cry. Those tears were your own," he says.

The corner of her lip curls up to form a lopsided smile. She closes her eyes. This time, Itachi is the one to look at her. A lone tear runs down her face, and he resists the urge to wipe it away.

"Why do you always find me at my lowest?" she asks.

"Fate, perhaps," he says.

"If this is fate, then I suppose living isn't so bad after all," she says.


	5. v

"Sakura."

"Yes, Sasuke?"

From Sakura's perspective, Sasuke looks to be visibly nervous. It's a very minor thing; someone not as familiar with him would have never noticed it. She sees the tension in his stiff shoulders, feels the unease radiating off of him in waves. He avoids her eyes, choosing to stare at a point beyond her shoulder. She tilts her head, feigning innocence at his behavior, dreading the inevitable confrontation.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sasuke asks.

"Okay," Sakura says.

"Itachi," he says, finally meeting her eyes.

"Itachi," she repeats. "What about him?"

"You spend a lot of time with him."

"That's not a question, Sasuke. That's a statement. What are you trying to ask?" Sakura says.

"What is he to you?" he manages to choke out, looking rather pained.

 _Thump_. Sakura takes in a sharp breath, not quite willing to meet his eyes. After that resounding _thump_ , she feels as though her heart has stopped beating. The blood in her veins freezes, though her body feels hot. She is frozen with terror, yet she is burning. She does not understand what her body is trying to tell her.

What is he to you? The question pulses through her head, waiting to be answered. It's a simple question, it really is; it should be easy to answer. Friend, her mind says, Itachi is your friend. Her iced veins begin to melt, giving way to scorching heat. The heat allows for bitterness to course throughout her body, leaving behind a burning trail in its wake. Deep down, she knows there's no room for these bitter feelings. Itachi is good for her. He is her closest, most important friend. So, if that were true, why does it hurt?

Why does it burn?

"Itachi is my friend," she manages to say.

"He is your friend," he repeats.

"Yes."

"You spend more time with him than you do with us."

"I'm sorry," she says, though she knows it's a lie. She is not sorry.

Sasuke looks at her, like he knows she's lying, but chooses not to comment on it. Her responses seem to have lessened some of the tension from his frame. He releases a breath, letting his gaze slide away from her face. Sakura's body seems to chill, slightly, with the action. She is no longer the subject of his scrutiny.

"You know," he says. "Naruto has a girlfriend now."

"Oh, really? Who would be dumb enough to date Naruto?" she says.

"Hinata."

"I take it back. I don't hate it."

"Why?" he asks.

"She is a kind girl," she says. Her voice softens with the next words, "Hinata will be good for him."

Yes, Sakura thinks, Hinata will be good for him. Naruto is a special case. He's loud and energetic, bordering obnoxious, but his heart is pure. He will be hard to deal with, though she's certain Hinata will be able to handle it. Hinata is quiet and laid-back, the very opposite of Naruto. They will make a good couple.

"It'll get him off my back," Sasuke says.

"Why do you want to be rid of him?" Sakura asks.

"Tch. He wants me to ask someone out."

"The great Sasuke Uchiha on a date," she says, feigning a swoon. "Oh my, what a lucky girl!"

"What makes you think there's a girl?" he asks.

"Well, I don't think you like guys," she says.

"That's not what I meant."

Of course that's not what he meant, she knew. She knows Sasuke. She sees the lingering glances in her direction, the subtle touches against her skin, the careful consideration he gives to her words and actions; she can read between the lines. The girl he likes, she knows, is none other than herself. Sasuke is certainly not lacking in female attention, though he has never been the type to pay it any mind. For this reason, she can't quite comprehend his romantic interest in her.

"I know," she says. "How does Naruto know about her?"

"I told him."

"Willingly?"

"Of course not," he says. "He just never shuts up. Invasive. It's annoying."

"He has good intentions," she says.

Perhaps, if this were an earlier time in her life, she would be happy with Sasuke's affections. She would be overjoyed, even, at her ability to reel in the elusive Sasuke Uchiha. However, at this point in her life, she finds no joy in his feelings. They do not comfort her. They bother her, and she desperately hopes that he does not act on them. She is torn, thinking herself to be undeserving of these feelings while also finding them to be inadequate. These feelings are from the wrong person.

Sasuke doesn't reply to her, instead choosing to stare at her in that knowing way of his. She stares back. In that moment, a million unspoken words pass between them. She may not be as close to him as she is Itachi, but it's more than enough. They don't need to speak to understand each other. Her gaze slides down his face, unconsciously comparing it to the elder Uchiha sibling; their eyes are different, she notes. Sasuke does not yet have that heavy gaze that fills Itachi's eyes, filled with burden and wisdom. His eyes are still lively and free. Something in her softens. She smiles at Sasuke, careful not to let her emotions slip though, and looks into his eyes. He stares, searching for something, but turning away when he can't find it.

Itachi suffers so that you may live, she thinks. There is not a greater gift in this world.


End file.
